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His departure broke the spell inside her. As if returning to her body after a long vacation, she blinked and glanced around, realizing what she’d just done. The other students and even the group leader stared as if she was an alien being. Spilling her entire sordid story had been to torture Xander, but in doing so, she’d shared everything with a roomful of complete strangers.

She hadn’t even told Bailey and Tess this much.

“I’m sorry,” she said, wincing and wishing she could take back the last few minutes. Not only had she not meant to share so much so soon, but torturing Logan Xander hadn’t been as fulfilling as she’d always dreamed it would be. “I didn’t mean to say so much.”

Samantha shook her head. “No, no. This is healthy.” She laughed. “It may not feel like it now, but you’ll feel it later. Trust me. And honestly, I’m proud of you for admitting your anger and telling us you’re not ready to forgive yet. It’s a very positive step in the right direction.”

Kevin leaned toward her and nodded with a glint of admiration in his eyes. “It really is,” he said for her ears alone.

Her face heated at his praise, and she forced a smile, hoping he didn’t hold anything against her for pulling away from his touch. He seemed really nice. And Tess had been right; he had gorgeous brown eyes and amazing wispy blond hair.

Around her, grief group continued. Paige remained silent for the rest of the session, and her nerves eventually loosened with each passing minute, feeling closer to the other members than she thought should be appropriate. But they understood. They honestly knew some of the pain, anger, and denial she was going through.

Logan Xander didn’t return. She kept waiting for him to blow back into the room and spill some big tragic story—all lies—about his own past. But he didn’t. And by the time the meeting let out, her anger at him for even being at a grief group meeting had unwillingly drained from her.

“Paige.” Samantha approached as soon as everyone stood and loitered around the refreshment table. She set a sturdy, comforting hand on Paige’s shoulder. “I really want to thank you for coming tonight and for telling us your story. I think you’re going to work through this and be just fine. But if you ever find yourself needing to talk, please don’t hesitate to call me.”

A business card appeared between her index and middle fingers. Paige accepted the generous offer, grateful the group’s leader wasn’t irritated with her for sending another member racing from the room.

As if reading her mind, Sam sighed and slipped her hand off Paige. “Well, I better go see if I can track Logan down and talk to him. He looked pretty affected by your story, but I doubt he’s gone far. He always sticks around to help me put things away after every meeting.”

Paige’s brow crinkled, a little confused to hear about such a considerate quality in him. So he drove drunk girls home from parties and didn’t take advantage of them, plus he cleaned up after grief counseling meetings? Neither aspect fit with the boy she’d built him up to be in her head. Rich, spoiled lawyers’ sons didn’t do such things.

They didn’t take responsibility for their actions and they didn’t act sorry for what they’d done.

Shaking the thought away, she watched Samantha leave through the same doorway Logan had earlier. But she turned left at the exit when he had gone right.

Not quite sure what possessed her, Paige followed, curving right when she left the Crimson Room. She honestly didn’t want to come across him. As she’d already said in the meeting, she didn’t know what she’d say to him if they did meet up. But she wanted to know if Samantha had been right. Had he stayed close by to help put away the tables and chairs?

Was he really that kind of person?

It didn’t seem possible.

She wandered through the halls, feeling like a fool on a meaningless mission. From the way he’d left, there was no way he was still in the building.

The Student Union was quiet, most of the rooms darkened, and even the passageways were barely lit by the occasional red glow of an exit sign or emergency light. She was about to turn around and try to find her way back to the Crimson Room, because she only knew how to get out of the building from there, when she went around a corner and came to a shuddering halt.

He sat on the floor, his back propped against the wall, his knees bent as his legs sprawled in front of him. But he’d crossed his arms over his chest as if he was cold, and he’d tilted his head back so his face was upturned toward the ceiling. With his eyes closed, he swallowed, the muscles in his throat working through the motion.

One overhead light caught his cheek perfectly, reflecting a glistening track of skin from the bottom of his eye and down along his jaw. Recent tears.

Slowly, he opened his lashes and rolled his head against the wall, lulling it her way until their gazes met. He looked exhausted and beaten.

Broken.

It wasn’t satisfying at all to realize she’d made anyone look broken—no matter who he was or what he’d done.

He didn’t seem surprised to see her. He appeared to be actually waiting on her.

“You didn’t tell them it was me,” he said, his voice so dry and raspy, it croaked.

Damn it. This was all wrong. He wasn’t supposed to be so ruined. He was supposed to be cocky and arrogant, boasting about defeating her brother in that fight. Smug he’d gotten away w

ith murder without any punishment.

Suddenly angry with him for toying with her feelings, for confusing her, she hissed, “No one here knows, do they? No one knows what you are.”

He jerked, every muscle in his body seeming to torque at her accusing tone. When he shook his head, she exhaled harshly and knotted her jaw. “Well, isn’t that just convenient for you?”